Tovarishch
by Vintage Reztles
Summary: Oleg Kirrlov was one of five newcomers who were sworn into the Third Street Saints from unconventional means during the exploits in Steelport. What made him special was how each interaction between him and the Boss provoked thoughts and feelings like no other.
1. Enemy of my Enemy

AN: I've been a lurking reader of Saint's Row fiction for some time now, and never really had an original thought in my pea-sized brain. But one day, I noticed how little Oleg there is in the world. That made me a saaaaad panda. So, I set out to right this wrong the only way I knew how: by contributing with my poor attempt at literature! There will hopefully be multiple chapters in the future, playing with the events that occur, or could have occurred, during Saint's Row: The Third.

I chose my protagonist to be vague for a reason: I wanted to be able to insert any gender that I wanted at any time. So, to the readers, you want it to be a dude? Have fun. Want it to be a chick? Let your imagination be your guide.

Hope you enjoy!

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After slaughtering several levels of Morningstar members within the illustrious, and very red, Syndicate Tower, the boss of the Third Street Saints and their two lieutenants Pierce and Shaundi were trekking cautiously. Shaundi covered the rear, while the Boss and Pierce had their sights trained in front. They passed several bulbous glass tanks that were suspended in the air and obscured by some type of chemical mist and plenty of wires. When the group came to an alcove to the upper right of the factory, each of them stared in morbid curiosity, while the Boss had enough gumption to question, "What the hell is all this?"

Before them was a massive specimen of a man (and there was no mistaking that it was definitely male), suspended in the air by a vicious myriad of wires and needles, as well as three glowing balls that imprisoned his hands at either side of him, and his feet encased together in one globe. The fellow was unclothed, and was assumed in 'Jesus formation', as the Boss dubbed it in their head. The bald man raised his head slowly to meet the bewildered gaze of two people behind, and the fascinated stare of the leader in front, before he spoke in a thickly accented voice, raspy from lack of use.

"Phillipe likes his things custom-made…and for his brutes, I am the master pattern, you see." Now that he mentioned it, he bore an unhealthy resemblance to the brutes that the Saints had recently been acquainted with. The Boss could easily pick out the differences, however. The more chiseled jaw, the emotive eyebrows, Grecian nose that hung a little to the left. The analytical attention that was held in the man's mis-matched blue and black eyes was vacant from the simple-minded and frantic browse of the brutes the boss had encountered, and promptly silenced with a mouth chock full of grenade. Pierce frowned and spoke up to the hulking man.

"Why're you still strung up if they already cloned yo' ass?"

"The copies are flawed. They have my brawn, but not my brain." With an inclination of his head, the only part of his body he _could_ move, he turned his gaze to the Boss before he spoke again.

"I can help you." The leader of the Third Street Saints blinked, their attention diverted back to the matter at hand.

Pierce leaned in closer to his boss and stage whispered, "The last time a big naked dude said he could help me, it did _not_ end well." The boss didn't even entertain Pierce's quip, but when Shaundi spoke up, the leader loaned an ear.

"What could he even do anyway? Those wires and shit are probably keeping him alive." Shaundi's argument was much more valid, and the Boss turned his attention back to the giant when he plead his case.

"Trust me. I am still strong enough to kill Phillipe." His voice and his gaze grew hard with promised vengeance. It was a look the Boss knew all too well and probably saw it on their own face in the mirror earlier that day, or for the past couple years for that matter. Who would they be to deny the behemoth his chance at taking a crack at the insufferable Belgian. Without lowering their gaze with the ensnared man, the Boss opened fire on the bulbous entrapment that covered the Slavic's hands and feet. The Saints joined along seconds later, and they all ceased fire when the gigantic male ripped himself out of his weakened binds systematically until he fell to one knee. The Boss couldn't help but think of The Terminator as they watched the giant stand to his feet, easily towering over all three of them. The muscular ex-experiment gained his bearings and cracked his neck and shoulders soundly, eliciting a mild shudder from Shaundi. Pierce looked squeamish for a different reason entirely as he hesitantly spoke to the man.

"You want some clothes, man?" The big guy didn't even glance in Pierce's direction. His eyes was on the stairs and ultimately to Loren.

"No time." He simply said as he made his way away from his broken prison. Shaundi back up, knowing better than to get in the naked giant's way.

The Boss nodded to the others to follow their new 'friend', and they could hear Pierce mumble under his breath, "Man, like I said, 'Last time a big naked dude…'"

As Shaundi and the Boss were the closest behind their Russian comrade, the Boss got an even better show of what the behemoth looked like, and from where their eyes continuously lingered, it was obvious that they liked what they saw. The muscular gentleman gestured to a pair of closed elevator doors and spoke directly to the leader of the Saints.

"This elevator will take us to the offices." and the Boss pressed the Call button to summon the lift. While it was a miracle that the three of them even fit in the elevator with the enormous and naked man, it was a more outstanding miracle that the Boss managed to not look entirely obvious that they were staring unabashedly at their new companion in the enclosed space. When everyone exited the elevator at some non-specified floor, the Slavic man continued to take the lead as he kept a powerful jog down a winding corridor.

"Follow me to Phillipe's office." As their new 'comrade' lead the way, sprinting up corridors and body-checking any doors and obstacles in their way, the Boss couldn't help but memorize the contours of each muscle that rippled with movement. Shaundi landed a rough elbow to her leader's right kidney to stop the Boss from continuing their appreciative and borderline hungry staring. The Boss merely grinned wolfishly and mouthed the word, "What?" as if there was nothing wrong with their lecherous act.

Meanwhile, Pierce wasn't as appreciative of their new companion's nudity as he tried to be polite. "Seriously, man, if you want, I could go find, like a curtain or somethin' for you, you know…" The giant took the offering in stride, and answered in kind.

"The human body is nothing to be ashamed of. Unless you have…insecurities." The deliberate pause in his words made Shaundi snort and prompted an abashed "I'm good!" from Pierce. The Boss couldn't help but think that this guy couldn't have been insecure at any point in his life, based solely on the body they were staring at, from behind, for the past seven minutes. However, the distracted leader decided they needed to put a name the person they were objectifying silently in their mind.

"Not that I'm ungrateful, but I _sometimes_ like to know a guy's name _before_ I see them naked?" The Boss trained their eyes upward with no small amount of willpower, just in time to see a flicker of an indecipherable emotion flash through the massive man's mis-matched eyes before he carefully answered, his gaze back falling back to the front as they all sprinted ahead.

"My name is Oleg Kirrlov…" The Third Street's Saints commander could recognize the hesitance in the answer and assumed that Oleg didn't often give out his name, and took it as a compliment that he'd at least grace this rag-tag team with that. Shaundi, perhaps, sensed the Russian's falter and tried to strike up conversation.

"So, what did you do, before you were a…glorified pin-cushion?" Pierce didn't even bother hiding his gaping expression that he aimed to Shaundi and her amusingly not tactful enough approach.

The Boss just listened on to see what Oleg would say, and all three weren't surprised when he closed the conversation with a terse, "I think it best for our …friendship, that I never elaborate. Just know that the enemy of your enemy, is your friend. As long as you oppose The Syndicate, you have nothing to fear from me."

"Works for me! Welcome Aboard." The Boss was pleased to hear that the Saints had new ally that they could depend on to help bring the hurt to The Syndicate, and was a little selfishly content that Oleg wouldn't be considered a threat, because it would be a crying shame if they'd have to neutralize the enormous man, especially before the purple clad leader could-… Before the rest of that salacious thought could continue, the group had sprinted through another corridor of offices, a pair of stairs, and turned around the corner.

"Loren's office is this way." Oleg saw the target before anyone else and made a mad dash towards a casually strolling Phillipe Loren who was climbing into another elevator. The Saints were thankfully on guard and raced after Oleg, while the Boss aimed their Shepard pistols and let a blazing fury of bullets off towards Phillipe, but their aim was a smidgen off due to sprinting and shooting at the same time. The now closed elevator doors took most of the bullets, and when the group reached it, the Boss let out a string of curses and slammed their palms on the doors in frustration.

"That's an express elevator to the basement. There is no way we will catch him." Perhaps it was the adrenaline pumping in their veins that made them turn to gaze frantically to the right, where an enormous spherical counterweight hung high in the crimson lit terrace.

And suppose it was the unbridled fury on Shaundi and Pierce's faces when it seemed that Loren would once again get away and not face their wrath for murdering their close friend and fellow lieutenant that made the leader of the Saints sprint towards the metal ball.

Maybe it was the defeated tone that Oleg had spoke in that showed how close he was to revenge against Phillipe, only for the opportunity to slip away once more and deny him retribution that caused the Boss to snarl, "Fuck. That," before clearing about a ten to fifteen foot distance in a large leap and land on the massive sphere. There was nothing much to grip onto, but it was just enough for the Saints commander to hold onto the base of the counterweight, adjusting their weight so they held with one arm their body, and the other trained on armed Syndicate goons that started to show up and open fire on the intruder's dangling body.

"Get this loose! We're going to smash that smug fucker!" The Boss could vaguely hear Oleg and Pierce trying to loosen the metal ball from its hinges, but was more pre-occupied with shooting the black and red clad gang members, rattling left and right from the recoil of the gun they were using proficiently. The top two levels of the balconies were littered with bodies as the leader murdered indiscriminately.

The Boss heard Oleg's "_Done._" And then felt the sphere descend, and the rush went straight the commander's head.

"Familiar with Agincourt, ya prick?!" The Boss yelled out to the direction they suspected Loren was heading. The Saint was aware enough to pull themselves up in time for the counterweight to spin on an axis as it fell and careened through several ceilings. While on one of the stable sides of ball, the boss noticed one of Oleg's clones landed on and was approaching fast, despite the velocity the two were traveling. Letting go of the orb for a total of four seconds to reach for another magazine, the Boss managed to reload their gun, grab hold of the plummeting vessel again, and open fire on the Brute with extreme prejudice. While the hulking clone was shrugging off a majority of the bullets, the Boss's plan was a success when the Brute lost too much momentum and was flung off the still falling counterweight.

There was barely time to breathe as the Boss could see on the edge of their vision that the basement was the last stop. They saw faint wisps of smoke that the leader hoped was from Phillipe's cigarette, and they prepared themselves for a shock-wave as the steel ball hit the concrete with a crunch. It was hardly inert as it continued to roll forward, and the Saint let go, landing on their back with a groan as the counterweight continued its rampage. With several hard earned breaths, the leader of the Third Street Saints stood up shakily, and their gaze was immediately caught by the grizzly streaks of blood that came from the tumbling metal sphere. With a manic grin, the Boss outed the still smoldering cigarette with their boot in the pool of Belgian blood before stepping toward the truck with the bomb. With a tap on the Bluetooth headset in their ear, the Boss told Shaundi and Pierce, as well as Oleg, although he had to hear through the two lieutenants, that the deed was done.

When the three Saints reached the basement level, they saw their Boss circling the bomb with a thoughtful expression on their face. Shaundi spoke first, her tone bitter and hard.

"What're you waiting for? Time to blow this place to Hell." The Boss opened their mouth to retort, but Oleg beat them to it as he spoke up.

"I hate this place more than anyone, but it would be foolish to destroy Phillipe's research without seeing what we can harvest from it…" And their leader could see the merits in that approach as well. Clones such as the Brutes, while definitely not perfect, was a hell of a lot further than whatever the government was working on. If the Saint didn't use the research for themselves, it could still fetch a pretty penny on the Black Market. So, the leader attempted to voice their concerns, but was once again interrupted by Shaundi, who was incredulous at the idea of keeping anything that was remotely associated with Loren in one piece.

"We came here to send a message, didn't we?!" And, that they were. The Saints, after suffering such a defeat by losing Johnny and being embarrassed in Steelport with little money to their name, had began this rampage with a clear message in mind to be sent to the gangs that composed the Syndicate: "The Third Street Saints were, in no shape or form, anyone's bitch. Also, there would be Hell to pay, in spades, for what was done to them." Pierce had mentioned on the trip to Syn Tower that this mission was not completed until the Syndicate was abolished, and he was right. Now, the Boss was irritated at Shaundi's question and was ready to scream, but then Oleg turned his massive self to face his new leader and proposed the alternative choice.

"Why not keep the building for yourself?" And that question paused any peep that was going to come from the Boss and made them really ponder that possibility. While revenge and comeuppance was something that the Boss was absolultely versed in at this point in their criminal career, the funds for their revenge was costly, and commercializing everything the Saints did left a sour taste in the Saint's mouth. Nothing could send a bigger message than claiming all of the Morningstar assets as their own and drowning the tall magenta tower in violet neon.

"Your choice, here, Boss…" Pierce prompted, and the Boss walked over to the console to the base of the bomb. With the press of a few buttons, the countdown for the bomb was deactivated. While Shaundi groaned in frustration, Pierce shrugged and place a hand on her shoulder that she promptly shook off. Oleg watched the leader with a curious look, to which he received a shrug and a smirk.

"Don't be so surprised. You make a mean argument, Mr. Kirrlov. Now, let's go back upstairs and scope out the rest of OUR tower." The leader of the Saints led the way back to the elevator, waving for the moping Shaundi and oblivious Pierce to follow as well. They went back to the floor with Phillipe's office and main conference room, and was greeted with a pair of mahogany double doors with a large star etched into it expertly. The leader pushed the doors open and let them in, and was greeted with a large room that was encased in black marble and lacquer, with bronze Roman statues posed in mid-battle to the left, right, and center of the room. A large obnoxious chair was set to the front of the room, on a raised platform. The entire room was lit up in red neon, but it made everything look pink instead of crimson.

"Ugh, we're gonna have to do something about the pink." The Boss grimaced as they took in the room and mentally started redecorating the interior. "You'd prefer a more manly shade, like purple?" Oleg smirked coyly as the three remaining Saints turned and looked at him, two with incredulity at the cheeky tone Oleg had used, and one of them with a pleasantly surprised, and dare anyone say, content expression on their face.

'_Oh, he's a keeper.'_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hello again everyone. I am so pleased that even one person wanted this to continue, let alone 4. Thank you to each of my reviewers, but especially to Mister Magic and SaintsRow4Ever for their great constructive criticism. Another round of gratitude to KayCay in the Forums. Anyone who is struggling with publishing chapters of a Saints Row fiction needs to check out the Forums. I would have never gotten the help I needed if I hadn't gone on there. I didn't know it existed until a month ago, and I've been on this site for years. Anyway, the following is a doozy, a whopping 16 pages in Microsoft word, with 11 sized font. I apologize in advance, and understand if it's just too much to sit through.

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**Chapter Two**

The private flight to Stilwater was a somber affair. Oleg had not been with the group long, perhaps two weeks, but the gloomy atmosphere that stagnated most conversation between the Saints was not something he wished to experience again. Oleg, Pierce, Shaundi, the Boss, and a handful of other Saint enforcers were on their way to Stilwater to finally lie to rest a comrade who fell in battle, the only way the great Johnny Gat could go down. Pierce was in the pilot's chair, with a lower-level recruit as his co-pilot. Shaundi sat to the left and in the back of the lavish plane, staring out into the vast blue skies with a stony expression and clouded eyes. The Boss was positioned in the left front row, on the phone, arranging everything to be perfect for the funeral. Oleg, from his seats (he already assumed that the plane was not prepared for his arrival, but he simply raised the arms of the front row of seats on the right, and positioned himself reasonably comfortable) had caught snippets of the one-sided conversation which the scheduling might be pushed back an hour or two due to a new bridge opening ceremony taking place that night that might interfere with traffic. Overall, the tenebrous flight left Oleg in his own thoughts of how much he knew of the Saints before his recruitment.

Years ago, before Oleg was subdued and experimented on, the KGB had heard the many rumors that traveled thousands of miles and spoke the praises of the Third Street Saints of Stilwater. Still a reasonably moderate sized gathering of puckish rogues back then, the members were almost as noteworthy as the organization's s exploits. Johnny Gat was a walking, talking destructive force to be reckoned with. Shaundi was a jack-of-all-trades that could be either valuable or troublesome if crossed. Pierce Washington was a vain but skilled infiltrator whose intelligence gathering was on par with practiced operatives. And the new leader who was recently revived from a several year coma after surviving a point-blank explosion, and whose name seemed almost completely erased from record, was an unpredictable flurry of initiative and action. It was rumored that the Leader of the Saints could persuade and motivate anyone to do their will. Oleg now could say with much conviction that it was true. There was a charisma and passion for the trade that the Boss possessed that just couldn't be emulated.

That, and it hadn't escaped the Slavic man's attention that while he was being liberated from Syn Tower and in pursuit of Loren with the Saints, that the purple clad leader was practically drooling at his naked form. While Oleg was quite aware of his physique and not ashamed of it in the least, he could honestly say that he'd never been in the situation that he might be able to use it in a non-threatening and more appealing circumstance. The Russian man would be lying to himself if he, too, didn't harbor some level of physical attraction to his new commander, but Oleg obviously had years more practice in the art of restraint than his new superior. Even when Oleg was later situated within the Saints' penthouse, the Boss personally chose an extensive wardrobe for Oleg that singlehandedly showcased how stout he was and what posse he belonged to (with the surreptitious purple accented in each article of clothing).

It was an hour later when the private jet touched down in Wardill Airport in Stilwater, and the returning Saints were greeted to a rambunctious welcome of Saints that were holding down the fort on the 'Row. The Boss greeted almost every one of them by name with a clap on the back, a handshake, or a half-hug, be the Saint a low level grunt, or the higher up enforcers or stand-in lieutenants. Oleg was quite impressed at the honest familiarity that the Boss had with such a great number of people as they commenced small talk with most of them, asking about the family to one, and how the rehabilitation from the knee surgery for another, and so forth. The Boss introduced them to their enormous new enforcer, and Oleg nodded in polite greeting to the mass of them. Then the group made their way to a large library of violet accented vehicles. The Boss spoke some quiet words to Shaundi and Pierce, before leaving the two to organize the stragglers, while The Boss made their way to the purple and gold Criminal. The Saints leader waved for Oleg to follow them, and sauntered to the boisterous plum vehicle and briefly spoke with a female member with russet pigtails in the driver's seat, before climbing into the load bed in the back. Oleg said his goodbyes to his colleagues and then joined his boss in the car, where it took off out of the airport ramps seconds later.

"Hey, big guy. I thought I'd give you a tour of Stilwater while we had some time to kill. Whaddya say?" The Boss relayed to their muscular companion amicably, and Oleg couldn't find fault in the decision.

"If it is not too much trouble. I understand that you have a full schedule today…" He watched as the scenery changed from the highway ramps to an urban cityscape that wasn't as blinding as the blazing neon of Steelport, but was no less vibrant. The streets were relatively clean, and civilians either cheered and whooped or fled for their lives in fear as they caught glimpses of the Leader of the Third Street Saints back in town. The Russian strongman was quite familiar with the celebrity status that the Boss had, and observed as they gave casual waves to a few, but didn't seem to let the attention go to their head.

"Nah, don't worry about. So, the first thing you'll see from almost any corner of Stilwater, is that giant goddamned thing, the Phillips Building." The Boss pointed off in the distance, to a large spire-like building that towered over the town like a stairway to Heaven. It was surrounded by many smaller buildings that made up the business district of the 'Row. Oleg quirked an eyebrow in question and opened his mouth to ask but the Boss swiftly interrupted him.

"Lemme see if I can get these questions out of the way. No, I didn't build that architectural monster. Yes, it's mine, figuratively, literally, on paper, etcetera. And, I have no freakin' clue who or which 'Philip' that thing was named after. Did I miss anythin'?" Oleg chuckled in good humor at his companion's witty retort. He apparently wasn't the first to want to inquire more about the looming building.

"I think you covered everything. Please, continue." The grin that the Russian powerhouse received glowed, like a simmering flame to a moth. The car parked on a street that, itself, was nothing to write home about, and was one of the few that had stylized graffiti etched into the brick walls of a Brown Baggers liquor store. The street art on the wall was a popularized version of the Saint of all Saints, with silver wings spread at full wingspan, pointed devil tail wrapped behind her, and golden halo catching the light of the sun at a certain angle. Oleg had seen the art quite frequently all over the Saints' Penthouse in Steelport, and he supposed it was a cherished symbol, as well as a play on words. He glanced to the Boss, who had grown quiet and had a small, reverent smile on their face as they studied the area.

"And, this is the heart of the 'Row. This street evolved me in freakin' minutes." Oleg recognized the conviction in the Boss's tone. It was one that people used when they recounted the defining moment in their lives. He leaned in closer from his seat across from the leader, expecting to hear a grand story of how the person before him escaped insurmountable odds on this very street.

However, the gang leader gave a wolfish grin and coy shrug. "But, that's a tale you'll hear from everyone else, soon enough. I've told it way too many times, and I've heard it retold, and each time was a different story completely." There, the Boss shook their head humorously.

"The worst game of 'Telephone', ever."

Oleg inclined his head in musing before he spoke, his tone light and inquiring. "I will be sure to ask for the tale from, perhaps Shaundi, one day soon. Pierce, I imagine, may embellish some important details." The massive Russian man gained a loud laugh that was so natural that he could not help but join in as well.

"Oh, he wouldn't be the first one. I enjoy the hell out of my false claims to fame. You'll never know if I took out fourteen members of different gangs out with just me and my Beta fish, Karlo. I'll just keep you guessing." That earned the leader of the Saints a hearty laugh from their newest lieutenant.

"I don't mind answerin' any other questions you got. C'mon, big guy, this is your chance to dig deep and get to know me. Who knows when I might feel this open again?" There was a hint of encouragement in those words, and Oleg was a naturally curious man. He wanted to know more about the person that saved him from many more years of siphoned DNA to create the Brutes that ran Steelport's streets.

"When we arrived, I believed that you were greeted by many members with "Yo-Yo". I do remember that "Yo" is a colloquial regard, but the manner it was being used was as a pronoun. Unless, I was mistaken…?" The inquiry had the Boss pause, and Oleg had half a second to ponder if he had bizarrely breached some type of taboo subject. However, he was rewarded with a choked laugh and a gentle shove that wouldn't have jostled his broad frame, had it not been for his surprise.

"Ha! N-no, you're right. 'Yo' is used in for all sorts of greetings. But, for me, everyone calls me "Yo-Yo", 'cause…well, let me show you, instead yappin' on." Oleg quirked his brows in interest as the Boss dug into a pocket of their coal black suit jacket and pulled out a lacquered white yo-yo, with thin purple wire that substituted the usually white string that latched to the axle of most versions of the children's toy. The toy was unraveled with a flick of a wrist, and the wire was maneuvered with experienced fingers in a quick flourish of movement, and Oleg recognized the move as the "around the world" move. The leader of the Saints called back the yo-yo after a few seconds and unhooked their finger from the slipknot before placing the toy in their palm for Oleg to get a better look at the toy. It had some intricate designs spiraling around the face of the toy in purple paint, but they were too minute to decipher from where he was sitting.

"This is Pierce. Well, not actually him, but you know what I mean. I have one for almost every member. Even you." Oleg looked up in surprise, and noticed that his commander was looking off to the side in a bashful manner.

"You have a yo-yo named after me?" The ex-KGB officer couldn't even hide the stun in his voice if he tried. The boss, or as he would call them from now on, Yo-Yo, turned back with a simple smile and rolled their eyes in mock-exasperation.

"Well, duh, of course I did. I just said it: I got one for practically everyone in the gang. And you've definitely made the cut. I did get it made larger, proportionate to the size of the others, so it's a goddamned behemoth." Oleg chuckled at that notion. He could imagine a yo-yo that had two discs that were the size of pancakes held together by the type of spool that were on fishing rods. But, Oleg wouldn't mind, because the thought that the Saints leader had a memento that symbolized him gave him a warm tug near his heart.

"You'll see some of these bad boys in action next time the Syndicate wanna throw down." Oleg was about to question what Yo-Yo had meant, but then his eyes lingered to the toy in their hand. The purple wire that was wrapped around the axle looked suspiciously like monomolecular fiber, and if it were, that was one decidedly dangerous component in a children's toy. Oleg then guessed that the axle that the fiber was wrapped around had to be made of something equally monomolecular, like diamond. His scientific mind was aptly curious about the toy/weapon, and was somewhat chagrined to see Yo-Yo place it back in their pocket.

The vehicle cruised through the streets and stopped at a red light. There was a large park to the left of the street with various sports nets and areas gated within tall black wire fencing. There was another statue of the Saint of all Saints in front of the entrance, and the sign denoted that the park was named "Saints' Playground". Oleg noticed how Yo-Yo's attention immediately caught to the basketball court, where some children, perhaps no older than 9, were playing animatedly. The adolescent look of longing in the Boss's eyes was enough for him to chuckle and tap them on the closest shoulder, jostling them out of their reverie.

"Would you like to join them? The teams are not quite that balanced, and it would be a _shame_ if their game was hampered because of the unfair advantage." Oleg chose his words carefully, and his joshing tone was not lost on Yo-Yo, and a wide, toothy erupted on their face. The Russian titan wouldn't mind seeing that expression more often.

"Oh, a right shame it'd be. Yeah, I think they could use our help." Yo-Yo knocked on the roof of the truck's cabin three times, and was rewarded with the vehicle slowly pulling into a nearby parking space. Oleg hopped out after the Criminal stopped, while the Boss took off their blazer jacket and laid it neatly in the load bed before jumping out, coyly ignoring the offered hand from Oleg with a smirk. Yo-Yo walked around the front of the truck, and the driver had a knowing grin as she waved the two off to have fun. As Oleg followed behind the Boss through the entrance to the park, he noticed the bronze plaque below the sign. It showed evidence of age with cracks along the edge, but was recently cleaned and shone in the glistening sunlight. It read, "Dedicated in Loving Memory of: Carlos Ramón Mendoza, August 21st, 1981-July 27th, 2007". The name was not familiar to the giant, but it probably a member that Yo-Yo knew personally, or someone close to the Saints in general.

Yo-Yo took several steps onto the concrete sidelines of the court, but the children hadn't realized they were being watched for a good couple minutes. There were three children on one team, easily the shortest children in the group, and six children on the opposite team, with two relatively tall members towering over the opposition. As the team with the advantage made another point and was traversing to the opposite net, a young Asian girl on the smaller team looked to the sidelines, and her dark eyes widened to the size of saucers before letting out an excited squeal. Everyone looked to her as though she was crazy, but when they followed her small finger to where she was pointing, the basketball left one of the children's hands and all of them stood slack-jawed and star struck for a second before abandoning the game and crowding around the Boss and Oleg.

"Oh my gawd, it's the Leader of the Saints! This is so cool!" Yo-Yo laughed and high-fived all of the gushing children before speaking over the murmuring voices.

"Hey runts! This is my newest lieutenant, Oleg. Say hi." All present, including Yo-Yo, who was mimicking the children, chorused a "Hi Oleg!" The Russian greeted the kids in kind, and before the children could speak amongst themselves again, the Boss gathered their attention again.

"We couldn't help notice that the teams seem to be a bit lopsided, and we thought, "Well, that ain't right." So we thought we'd ask if we could play. Whaddya say?" The cheers from all the children were almost deafening, and both Yo-Yo and Oleg laughed at the exuberance. Two children, who were probably the captains of the two teams, immediately starting quarrelling as to which team got the Saints leader, and a loud whistle from Yo-Yo stopped them short.

"Hey, now, I got an idea. I'll go on this team with…" They pointed to the captain who commanded the larger team, a young boy with short brown hair that was spiked up and blue eyes who took the hint and spoke up. "Mickey", the boy said proudly, and Yo-Yo clapped their hand on the boy's shoulder lightly.

"With Mickey." The other team groaned in disdain, while Mickey's team whooped in success. They stopped when the Boss continued. "And, that means that Oleg will be on the other team." Somehow, Mickey's team seemed to forget Oleg was there, so when Yo-Yo mentioned this, they're eyes were huge as they realized the repercussions of their choice. The smaller team, led by a small bald black boy named David, had to tilt their heads far back to take a good look at their new teammate, and the wide, somewhat toothy grins Oleg received made him smile warmly. The Asian girl from earlier was the first to introduce herself to ex-KGB officer as Niki "with one K!", before grabbing his large hand in her smaller one and leading him onto the court. Oleg looked back to his leader and earned a laugh and a wave as they went to the opposite side of the court to join their own team.

What occurred in the next 45 minutes was the most exciting game of basketball the children, and many of the onlookers, had ever experienced. Oleg's presence seemed to liven up David's team and they played tremendously, now that they had a fighting chance. The leviathan had Niki on his shoulders for a good majority of the game, and the little girl made almost all the shots her team had scored while Oleg playfully weaved around the other team and stood in front of the basket. He was so tall that when he stood before the basket, the net came up to Niki's upper abdomen. When Oleg would somewhat hustle back and forth, the girl would gently rap on his bald head to go faster, which garnered laughter from Yo-Yo and the crowd present

Mickey's team preformed equally as great, but for different reasons. Yo-Yo cheered on each of the children and played to each of their strengths. Whereas Oleg was tall and massive, Yo-Yo was short and diminutive, but had a speed that Oleg couldn't dream of obtaining. The team passed the basketball around quite a lot, so as to not be cornered by Oleg when his team was on the defensive. The tallest member on Mickey's team was a young girl with long black hair in a ponytail named Melissa. She was 11 and already towered over Yo-Yo by a couple inches. By the end of the game, she had the second most points with 36, just under Niki's 42.

When the game was over, the children gained a round of applause from the crowd of kids and adults that surrounded the sidelines and watched the entire game. The score rivaled a pro-basketball game scoring with 58-54, and David's team winning. Oleg lowered Niki from his broad shoulders and she gave him as big a hug as she could with her small arms before running to her teammates and celebrating. Even though Mickey's team lost, they still had bright smiles on their faces as they shook hands with the winners and ruffled Niki's hair in congrats.

"Good game, guys! All of ya'll did great. And, for lettin' us play with you, ice cream's on me!" The kids cheered happily, and the driver of the parked ice cream truck smiled and waved the kids down. The Saint that had driven them was outside the Criminal truck and was seen paying the ice cream man a large stack of bills that could easily cover the ice cream sold four times over. The children had immediately rushed over to the truck, while their parents, who were amongst the crowd, gave their thanks to the Boss and Oleg for making the day special for their child. The two kindly waved off the gratitude and left the basketball court, walking side by side back to the truck. The red-headed Saint was already back in the driver's seat by the time they hopped back onto the load bed of the vehicle. As the truck pulled out of the parking space and drove off, the children waved and screamed good-bye to the two gangsters, receiving departing waves from said gangsters as they left.

"You got some moves, Oleg! Anyone ever tell you that you should go into basketball?" Yo-Yo said loudly to combat the sound of wind and traffic that whipped around them. They received a laugh from Oleg as they were putting back on their blazer jacket.

"I can honestly say that you are the first to mention it. I have, however, heard that American football and professional wrestling would be 'up my alley'." The two shared another round of laughter at the too true statement.

The purple Criminal drove around Mission Beach, and the Boss pointed out some of their old haunts animatedly. They then introduced Oleg to Freckle Bitch's (which he could honestly say that it tasted quite terrible, but at Yo-Yo's expectant look, he lied through his teeth and said it was enjoyable), and the Boss bought extra orders for Shaundi and Pierce after they texted their requests. Soon, the sun was falling, and it was drawing closer to the time for the funeral. The landscape changed as they traveled out of the lower income area and made way through the suburbs. Oleg attempted to keep Yo-Yo chatting, talking about nothing in particular, but he could see that they were drawing in on themselves, deep in thought. Oleg had buried many fallen soldiers in the past, but he couldn't imagine having to say goodbye to a dear friend, one that you thought to be near invincible, like the Boss so fondly thought of Johnny Gat. The giant man grew quiet, this time because he couldn't think of the right words to say to his obviously still grieving ally.

They arrived at Mourning Woods Cemetery a little before dusk, with the purple and gold Reaper hearse in front, and several other Saints vehicles parked nearby. Oleg stepped out off the load bed, and offered assistance to his leader once more. The Boss gave a small smirk, but nimbly jumped out without help again, earning a chuckle from the Russian. The Boss straightened their ensemble of its wrinkles, a black Neighbor jacket and vest with a white shirt and Saints purple tie along with a pair of High Class slacks. Yo-Yo lead the way as Oleg and the Saint that was driving them followed behind. They all met up with Pierce and Shaundi and several other Saints at the hearse, each looking morose. Shaundi was in a stylish black coat with a white vest and a purple collared shirt underneath, and a pair of black European Model pants and a devastating pair of black Sky High Heels. Pierce's suit was almost the same as he always wore, except where it would be white, it was black, and he had a white button-up underneath. Oleg, himself, was in a black blazer and slacks with a black sweater that had the Saint's Fleur-de-lis near the right breast. If there were any onlookers watching the event, there would be no doubt in their minds that this was a somber evening for the Saints.

The back of the hearse was opened up and a black coffin with few accents in purple was laid in the cushioned back seat. With Oleg and Pierce on one side and the Boss and Shaundi on the other, tailed by two tall enforcers, the group lifted the empty coffin and walked slowly towards the grave plot and the priest. The group slowly lowered the coffin onto a lift and then took their seats on the black folding chairs. The ceremony was not to be too long, something Johnny had insisted upon Yo-Yo a long time ago, and the funeral itself had a large attendance only because most of the people there were Saints. Johnny's parents were seated in the front, to the left of the Boss, and his mother gripped Yo-Yo's hand throughout the ceremony. There were few tears shed by the Saints, either because the gangsters were too 'hard' to cry, or because they already cried their tears for their fallen lieutenant and were ready for closure.

As the coffin was finally being lowed into the grave plot below, the Boss surprised most present when they sung a few bars of the Boyz II Men version of 'So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday'. Another saint, the same one who drove the Boss and Oleg around earlier, harmonized along, creating a haunting melody.

_I don't know where this road_  
_Is going to lead_  
_All I know is where we've been_  
_And what we've been through._

_If we get to see tomorrow_  
_I hope it's worth all the wait_  
_It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday._

_And I'll take with me the memories_  
_To be my sunshine after the rain_  
_It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday._

Their voices carried throughout the mostly silent cemetery, and poor Shaundi couldn't hold in her tears any longer as she leaned against Pierce and sniffled pathetically. Pierce merely wrapped one arm around her shoulder and let her cry, being the friend that she needed right then. When the song concluded, Yo-Yo took the shovel handed to them by the priest and sifted the first couple clumps of dirt onto the shining black lacquer finish of the coffin, and then passed the shovel to each person who got up in an orderly fashion and repeated the motion.

The ceremony came to an end, and the large group of Saints dispersed slowly, some dropping white or purple roses onto the coffin as they left. Yo-Yo was one of the last people other than Gat's mother and father to leave, and they pulled out a yo-yo out of their pants pocket. It was one that Oleg hadn't seen yet, for it was all black, with white rings around the two discs. The discs looked worse for wear, with holes that went through both sides, and several cracks along the edges. The holes, Oleg belatedly recognized as bullet holes. It, too, had purple monomolecular wire wrapped around the axle. Yo-Yo didn't unwind the wire and did not perform tricks with it. They simply placed the toy on the dirt covered coffin below. The leader of the Saints stayed frozen for a while, before turning on their heel and walked away with their head high. The Boss reached Shaundi and gave a rare, tender hug, and the young woman took it graciously. When she was more composed, she nodded to the Boss.

"I'm good. Let's get the hell out of here. I need a goddamn drink." No one present could dispute that request, so they started walking to the cars. Oleg caught up with the Saints leader and matched his gait with them.

"Will you be alright?" He asked in a low voice, wanting to only be heard by the intended party. Yo-Yo shrugged noncommittally and gave a shaky smile.

"Eventually. This shit never gets easier, you know?" Oleg made a grunt of agreement and nodded for the smaller Saint before him to continue. But, unfortunately, the two had made it back to the parking lot, and their conversation would have to wait.

The mass of people were waiting for their commander to give word to where their location was next, even though they already knew.

"Alright, folks, let's head back to the crib." As they started to pile into cars and trucks, Shaundi got the keys to the Criminal that Oleg and the Boss rode in, while Pierce started the Reaper.

"Hey Boss, you ready?" Pierce called out to his leader, and said Boss gave Oleg an apologetic glance that the large Russian man kindly shrugged off.

"You go ahead. I will ride with Shaundi. We will meet you at the headquarters." The Saints leader nodded and waved to the two before hopping into the hearse. Shaundi fired up the Criminal, but she stuck her head out the driver side window and called out to Oleg. When he turned to her, she threw a Bluetooth headset the stout man. He caught it and put it in his ear, and was able to hear her voice clearly.

"That way, we can talk without one of us having to shout." Oleg commended her on her quick thinking as he climbed into the load bed of the truck once again. They were soon off as well, the large truck maneuvered behind the hearse, which was leading the procession of purple and gold cars down the suburban streets.

"Shaundi?" There was an unspoken question in his tone, but he didn't expect much of an answer. He was still getting to know Shaundi and Pierce, as well as most of the Saints. The serious young woman wasn't as talkative as her fellow lieutenant and her impulsive leader, and she possessed an abrasiveness that just did not suit her.

"I'm fine." Her curt response wasn't very convincing, and the Russian knew not to pry further than that. What he hadn't expected was for the headset to sound out a long suffering sigh from the young woman, as well as more conversation. "

Sorry, big guy. It's just…having a funeral and seeing a coffin made the whole thing _real_, y'know?" And Oleg did know. One minute you were talking to a friend about some arbitrary thing or another, and the next, you were burying that same friend. While he didn't know the context of how involved Shaundi's and Johnny Gat's relationship was, Oleg could at least determine from the sunken voice that it was strong enough to cause an impact. He offered no further words of consolation, simply because he felt it wouldn't do justice to the gravity of the conversation. Little did he know how grateful Shaundi was for that consideration.

"Johnny had been in the Saints longer than anyone here. He always found a way to survive anything that was thrown at him. Shot in the leg? No problem. Sword to the gut? He could shrug that off. I suppose expecting him to survive an ambush on a crashing plane is a little farfetched, but goddamn it, if anyone could, it'd be him." Oleg let the brunette ramble, and his heart went out to her.

"There's not a second that I don't replay that night in my head and think about what I-…what _we _could have done." And there it was. While Oleg could see why Gat's death would have been such a tragedy for the Saints, he couldn't help but analyze how hard Shaundi, particularly, was taking his passing. She blamed herself. From the recap Pierce provided of the flight on Philippe Loren's private plane that night, Oleg couldn't determine if it was true, but whether she was to blame or not was neither here or there.

"But, I'm worried about Boss." With that simple admission, Oleg perked up and furrowed his brows.

"Why is that?" He asked, his voice conveying his confusion and caution. Shaundi sighed once again before speaking. "

"We lose Saints every day, sometimes in the goddamn droves. At one point, Boss ended up buying that cemetery because more than eighty-five percent of the graves in there have Saints buried in it, a good amount of them having died after Yo-Yo took over the gang." At this, Oleg searched his impressive memory and confirmed that he had noticed a majority of the graves, which were cleaned with the most care, had violet orchids set down neatly atop them or had it planted around the headstones. Those same ones had the patron saint of the gang chiseled into the tombstones magnificently. The large Slavic man was astounded by the commitment that the Boss showed for his Saints and town.

"Did you know that we hardly recruit anymore? Anyone who wants to join the Saints usually ends up coming to us. And the Boss meets with almost all of them at some point, gets to know them a bit, ask about family, and then asks them what their ambitions are, like a freakin' job interview or somethin'. Yo-Yo once told me that have they'd then tell the new blood that "there's a huge chance that they won't live past 35 because their lives will be on the line every time the walk on the goddamn street." Yo-Yo's exact words, I shit you not." Oleg listened with rapt attention as Shaundi continued, and the Criminal drove up one of the entrance ramps to a bridge.

"And that almost every single one of them says that they want to represent the 'Row. That "to be a part of the Saints is worth the risk." The Boss couldn't understand it, but I do. Lin did. Aisha did. Carlos did. Johnny did. Every Saint does. I think, at some deeper meaning, Yo-Yo does actually get it."

Oleg could tell from Shaundi's words where this conversation was heading. Because Shaundi used past tense as she listed off names, he assumed the others had passed away as well. The Russian juggernaut was reminded of the playground he had visited with Yo-Yo earlier that day, and who it was dedicated after, a Carlos Mendoza. Perhaps the guilt of the deaths of their crew was marring the Saints leader. Oleg knew it was foolish to believe that Yo-Yo was indirectly responsible for each gang member's death, but guilt was a weight that would anyone, whether they deserved it or not.

"Yo-Yo is the only person I know that can go through only two stages of grief: anger and acceptance. I was beside myself with denial for days, and I'm still pissed off, but I went through the gambit. Not the Boss." Shaundi laughed mirthlessly, and Oleg gazed forward, into the sea of cars that were behind the truck.

"Our leader is not as…conventional as most." Oleg spoke candidly. He joined the Saints towards the last levels of the Anger stage that the Boss was encountering. He saw the wild look on Yo-Yo's face when it seemed as though Loren was going to get away, and they perched themselves on the giant metal ball counterweight to catch up to the Belgian. The Acceptance stage was simple, and shown in the Boss's blank eyes, void of the expressions that it had earlier today. Actually, today, he saw the most emotions from his leader than he had seen in the last two weeks since he was canonized. He was selfishly pleased that he got to experience the good day with Yo-Yo without the funeral fully bearing down on the leader until later on.

"Oh, what the fuck is this? What's with the goddamn gridlock?" Shaundi's irritated voice brought Oleg out of his thoughts, and he noted that they hadn't moved since they got onto the bridge. Because of his high vantage point, he was able to see about seven or eight cars ahead what looked like a brunette woman with a large pair of scissors near a sash that was tied along the width of the lanes. A television crew and reporters were beside them, taping the occasion. Cars were idle in front of them, and drivers looked impatient, meaning they had probably been there for a while.

"It would seem that we are in the midst of a grand opening for the bridge," Oleg relayed to Shaundi, who groaned in annoyance. Oleg was far more patient as watched on. He looked to the right and saw the hearse besides the truck, with Pierce in the driver's seat and the Boss in the passenger's. Oleg was reminded of the snippets of the cellular conversation Yo-Yo had on the private jet, and realized that this must have been it.

Just as it seemed as though the woman was finally about to cut the ribbon, several large vehicles were quickly coming into view from behind, plowing to cars to get further ahead. As they got closer, Oleg recognized the green, red, and black of the luchador masks the people in the nearing trucks adorned.

"Killbane." Oleg murmured, but it was drowned out by metal crushing as another vehicle, a yellow taxi, was rammed into and pushed aside. Pierce stuck his head out the window of the Reaper and squinted as he stared into the side mirror.

"What the..?" The Boss followed their lieutenant's gaze before standing on their seat, maneuvering their torso out of the open window, and gaped at what they were seeing. Green and black Criminal trucks were cruising at high speeds towards them, and some of the vehicles were outfitted with mini-gun turrets that opened fire on all the purple cars. Yo-Yo managed pull out a pistol and shoot off a few rounds at the nearing trucks, scoring a headshot on one of the close trucks, and it veered into a divider, but more trucks were behind it, and the Boss knocked on the cabin of the hearse twice to signal for Pierce to start driving. Shaundi hadn't cut off the engine for the truck, so they were immediately following as the hearse squeezed between two vehicles. The advantage for have such a huge truck was instantly apparent as it climbed _over_ one of the two vehicles that were still parked, simulating a speed bump.

"Who are these guys?!" Shaundi questioned, but Oleg didn't hear her over the rumblings of engines drawing closer.

Oleg was sitting and gripping both sides of the Criminal cab as Shaundi drove, staring forward and watching as Luchadore vehicles neared. Pierce had no choice but to drive through the opening ceremony, and most of the people gathered had ran out of the way of the speeding vehicles. The Reaper and the Criminal were tearing through asphalt as quickly as it could, and when Oleg witnessed one of the Luchadores spin out a purple Infuego that the pigtailed Saint from earlier was driving. Unfortunately, the force of the ram and loss of control attributed to the car sailing over the edge of the bridge.

Oleg wasn't given chance to grieve as the car chase saw explosions erupt into the bridge, jeopardizing the bridge. The titan was familiar with weapons, and recognized the RPG rockets' blasts. The Annihilator's explosions were indiscriminate as they hit Luchadores and Saints the same. Oleg credited Shaundi in her excellent evasive driving as expertly maneuvered before or around each blast, even as she cursed fervently to no one in particular.

The Russian heard the sounds of something snapping, and felt the bridge quiver as one of the large metal upper pieces of the bridge fell from above and crushed several green vehicles and effectively stopped more opposition from chasing the surviving Saints down. The truck and hearse still sped down the empty side of the bridge, followed closely behind by only three Saints occupied cars.

Oleg looked around, as he heard the tell-tale whistle of Annihilator rockets nearing, but was unprepared for the rockets to meet their mark. The Reaper was hit dead-on, and the ex-Russian Intelligence officer felt his stomach lurch as it tumbled four times and fell through the massive crack in the bridge that was created from the rockets that missed it. The Criminal truck vibrated from the blast, and he vaguely remembered Shaundi cry out in terror as the vehicle lost control and fell through the cement as well.

Oleg, through many years of operative training, managed to control his landing into the water with minimal injury to him. He attempted to dive to get Shaundi out of the truck cabin, but was thankful when he saw her squeeze out of the open window and kick up to the surface. He grabbed her outreached hand and used his strength to push her upwards so she surfaced quicker. When he surfaced, he heard her gasping for water.

"Are you alright?" He promptly asked his fellow lieutenant, and received a nod that she instantly regretted as she took water into her still open mouth and spat it out.

"Fucking peachy. Have you seen Yo-Yo or Pierce?" She turned her whole body to see if she could spot them, but it was quite dark except for the flames on the bridge above and the lights of the city in the distance.

"Right here, but I think the Boss is still down there!" Pierce called out to the pair from at least twenty feet away. He was holding onto something as a buoy, but it was hard to make out. Oleg heard what he had said and sucked in a breath before diving back under. He kicked hard and squinted, hoping to gain some better sense of visibility.

Oleg made out a large foreign object that was sinking rapidly into the depths and swam towards it quickly. It was a feat of determination on Oleg's part that his large stature struggled to obey the laws of underwater physics and retain its buoyancy, pushing him back to the surface. He grabbed at the side of the vehicle, creating dents in the metal to maintain a grip, and pulled to the front cabin. He saw Yo-Yo struggling to release themselves from the seatbelt and looking stricken with fear. Oleg stuck his gigantic hands into the hearse and grabbed the seatbelt. With some effort, he effectively tore it as though it was rice paper.

The testament of the Boss's fear had shown when they latched onto Oleg's arm for help, which he easily gave as he pulled his Boss out of the sunken car. He then kicked to push two of them to the surface, for his air reserves were almost completely depleted. Oleg was about to pull and push Yo-Yo to the surface as he had done for Shaundi, but the leader of the Saints seemed to realize what he was planning and shook their head feverishly. Oleg couldn't quite make sense of the objection, but didn't question it as they neared the surface with the both of them kicking.

The two surfaced and gasped loudly, hungrily sucking in the much needed oxygen. Oleg noted that the terrified expression that the Boss wore and their vice grip on their new lieutenant did not fade.

"It's alright. You are safe. It's alright. вы в безопасности, Ангел мой.(1)" Oleg hadn't realized exactly what he said, or that he entered his native tongue as he spoke softly and pulled the almost hyperventilating being closer. The fact that the Boss wasn't pulling away spoke miles for how beside themselves with panic they were. Seconds passed as the two were in near embrace and waded the turbulent water. Slowly, their breathing started to even out, and Oleg watched as Yo-Yo began regain control. Oleg felt the reassured squeeze from the Boss before they let go.

"Thank you, big guy. But, don't you ever do that again." Yo-Yo's voice was scratchy and ragged as if they ate gravel as they spoke, but nonetheless held an edge. Oleg thought that meant the words and gestures of comfort, but was shocked when Yo-Yo clarified.

"Don't you ever put your life on the line for me like that again, y'hear me? I will _not_ lose anyone else." That last sentence sounded more like they were reassuring themselves than demanding Oleg. The behemoth was stunned at the ultimatum, but his voice held conviction in his response.

"I will not promise that. If it is within my power, I will save you when you need it. You will not fall on my watch." Oleg could see the disapproving frown on their face, and they were opening their mouth to retort when both Oleg and the Boss heard Shaundi in the distance.

Shaundi's frantic cries for either the Russian or her leader echoed in the night, and Yo-Yo called out to her and Pierce, gaining relieved sighs from both lieutenants.

"этот разговор еще не закончился.(2)" Oleg's eyebrows couldn't have went any further up if he willed it so as the Boss whispered to him in pretty good Russian before disjointedly doggy paddling to where they heard Shaundi and Pierce. Oleg shook out of his stupor and swam in the same direction, pulling the Boss with him as he noticed they weren't a very strong swimmer.

The two found Pierce and Shaundi leaning against what was now recognized as a dead Luchadore gang member.

"Whoever this crew is, they float pretty good." Pierce tried his best to lighten the mood, but even he sounded upset. Pierce wasn't easily angered, but even he knew that a funeral was off limits. The last people who learned that the hard way were the Ronin.

"They're Killbane's thugs." Oleg gained everyone's attention as he identified the culprits.

"Kill-who?" Yo-Yo echoed the other Saints' thoughts.

"He's The Syndicate's attack dogs." Hearing the name of the group responsible for Johnny Gat's death and the evening's events lit an angry fire over Shaundi.

"What he did to Johnny's funeral, that's _way_ over the fucking limit!"

"He does not care about the rules of engagement." Oleg knew the collective group would be ready for revenge, and was not disappointed when the Boss voiced this.

"No rules, then. I can work with that." The Russian couldn't help but hear what sounded like promised pain in Yo-Yo's retort. He knew that what he said next was not what they would want to hear, but he felt it prudent to inform them.

"You're not yet ready to fight the Syndicate." Shaundi sounded as if she took personal offense to the larger man's statement and she spoke with venom.

"Watch us." The Boss, however, was patient as they attempted to calm Shaundi down from the offensive.

"Hold on, Shaundi. We'll get 'em, yet." They then paused to turn fully to Oleg before continuing.

"Alright, big guy. Keep goin'. Whaddya got?" Oleg was thankful that the leader was listening to reason and not immediately reacting to the situation.

"There are others who hate the Syndicate as much as you do. I will take you to them."

"Thanks, Oleg. Let's get the fuck out of this water, and then, lead the way."

* * *

Complimentary Slightly Wrong Russian Lesson, starring Google Translate

(1): "You are safe, my angel."

(2): "This conversation is not over."


End file.
